Anarchy and Old Dogs (Dr. Siri Paiboun) (19 page)

"So, Doctor," Tao said at last. "Any ideas?"

Siri looked over his shoulder at Tao and the red-faced woman.

"He did it, didn't he?" he said. "Your brother threw the boy into the water tower."

"I'm saying nothing to you, you communist scum."

"Listen, you old witch, this has nothing to do with politics. I don't give a hoot who or what you support or believe in. What I care about is the little boy your brother left to die in that concrete tomb up there."

"You have no proof of that," she said.

The brother wriggled to free himself but Siri's grip was vise-like.

"Oh, but we do," Siri said. "You wouldn't believe what technological marvels are available to us at the Forensic Science Institute in Vientiane. I can match up the stones we found in Sing's pocket with the drawing there in your water tank, for one. Then it wouldn't surprise me if I found his hairs in the water. And you know what? I bet if we went to the back of the building, we'd find that wooden slide the builders used to dump their waste in the river is made of the same wood as the splinters in the boy's back. You found him dead, carried him out back, and sent him down into the Se Don like garbage. You're truly evil, both of you."

"It was me," she said.

"What?"

"I did it. All of it. He had nothing to do with any of this."

"Is that so? In that case, you'd better calm him down before we get to the police station. If you don't, I doubt anyone will believe that particular version of the truth."

"Will he be ... if ... when they convict me, will he be looked after?"

"The nice thing about socialism," Siri said, "is that everyone--no matter what their physical or mental state--gets treated equally." He didn't bother to add the word "badly."

"All right." She started to sing. It was an old folk song Siri had heard during his stay in the south. Although the woman's spoken voice was annoying and grating, she sang beautifully. Siri felt the brother relax in his arms and heard him breathe a deep sigh. When Siri released his grip, the man stayed where he was. Music had indeed soothed the savage breast.

At Pakse police station, Dr. Somdy had ministered to the coroner's wounds and given him some painkillers. Tao saw him to the front gate.

"Two for two," he said. "That's a two hundred percent better record than any of us has ever managed, Doctor. You're quite the detective. You ever considered joining the police?"

"You're just sucking up to me because I threatened to have you transferred to hell."

"Well, yeah. I probably wouldn't bother saying it if I wasn't a bit scared of you, but it's the truth. I admire what you did. I know you had nothing to gain by solving this case. I get the feeling you did it just to let the mother have some peace. That's a great thing."

"Concentrate on the small things and do them well."

"I'll remember that."

They shook hands and Siri walked through the muggy streets to his hotel. The thick cloud had returned, as mean as ever. It was a fitting overhang to his mood. He couldn't get the thought of wasted life out of his mind. He remembered what Keuk in Khong had said about the bodies they'd pulled from the river after the French reprisals. A mountain of them, he'd said, killed and tortured for loving their country, and what did it achieve? Really, what did those patriots have to show for their sacrifice? Was all this actually worth fighting for? Were his whimsical countrymen worth defending? There he was again--thinking. It never did him any good. It didn't surprise him at all that the highest doctor suicide rate in the world was among pathologists.

He took a deep breath before walking into Pakse's best hotel, his home for over a week. The place was about as sophisticated as fried rice. The receptionist was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the front desk plucking a chicken. He leaned over the counter and she smiled at him. She was in her teens and living proof that guest-relations skills are acquired over time.

"Oy, old man, what have you been up to? Did you fall off your bike? Your cousin's been looking for you all day. He asked me a dozen times where you might be, as if I'd have any idea."

Siri dispensed with his usual lecture.

"Is he in?" he asked.

She looked up at the key rack. It was empty. "Must be in his room."

"Thank you." He put his hand on the large green telephone that sat like a camouflaged armored car on the desk. He'd never heard it ring. "Does this thing work?"

"The phone? It's good for local. If you want to call long distance you have to go to the post office."

"Right. Thanks."

On the upstairs landing he stopped outside Civilai's door and heard what sounded like a party: laughter, cheering, all the sounds associated with celebration. He contemplated going directly to his own room but somehow forced himself to turn the handle and enter. He was astounded to see the array of guests inside. Sitting on the bed were two people so out of place in Pakse he didn't recognize them at first. Phosy and Dtui both rose to greet his arrival. As they approached him, Siri was able to quickly scan the rest of the throng. Phosy's soldier friend, Kumpai, sat on the floor beneath the Nordic stags. Governor Katay sat on one of the guest chairs with his hands behind his head, smiling like a happy father at a wedding. Civilai was in his usual seat with his fingers knitted together beneath his chin.

Phosy shook Siri's hand and Dtui gave him one of her rapid body-slam hugs before stepping back to look at him. He was bruised and bloodied and his less-than-complete ear was wrapped in a bandage. His clothes were the color of dried mud.

"Hey, Doc," Dtui said. "Who beat you up?"

He smiled at Dtui and finally had a chance to use a line he'd heard many years ago in a movie in France. "You should see the other guy."

Dtui clapped and Phosy shook his hand again. There was more commotion and a lot of greeting and laughing, but nobody seemed to want to take the responsibility of telling him what they were celebrating.

"All right, I give up," he said, taking a seat on the bed between his friends. "What do you all know that I don't?"

"Between us," Civilai said, "it appears we've been able to thwart the coup."

One of Siri's eyes opened wide. The other remained puffy and closed.

"You what? Why that's great. How? Tell me all about it."

While Kumpai went downstairs to order as much alcohol as the city of Pakse could provide, Phosy and Dtui told of the events leading to their arrival at the land border at Chong Mayk, where they had slipped through a well-used smuggling trail. Escaping into Laos had been easier than escaping out of it. They were met by Kumpai at a pre-designated spot and driven to Pakse that morning. The supposed phone call to the Ubon governor from Brother Fred's office had in fact been to one of Phosy's contacts on the Thai side. He, in turn, had been able to contact Kumpai in Champasak.

Dtui, being herself, often found Phosy's rendition of the facts a little dry so she peppered it with anecdotes to keep the crowd entertained.

"The mission Land Rover was better than a laissez-passer," she said. "The checkpoint guards all the way to the border just stared at the diplomatic plates and glanced up at my driver Phosy here, and me on the backseat. I was wearing these very Japanese ambassador's wife-type sunglasses I found in the glove box. I looked down my nose at these country boys and they stepped back. Some of them even saluted us. I couldn't believe it. I was heartbroken when our policeman here said we had to leave the car on the Thai side. I wanted to live in the thing."

The first round of drinks arrived and Dtui made the initial toast of many.

"To our republic," she said, raising her glass. The toast was echoed with resounding enthusiasm.

As the glasses continued to empty and refill, Siri glanced at Civilai. His friend was celebrating, joining in the festivities and enjoying the jokes. But, like Siri, he didn't seem to have the same sensation of unbridled relief and joy that the others obviously felt. It was as if they were both pretending. He wondered whether his friend was feeling the same frustration and guilt of failure that Siri felt himself. It was a fleeting moment and one that alcohol soon erased. He returned his attention to the party and held out his glass for a refill.

"I'm still missing facts," he said. "You're at the border and Kumpai meets you ..."

"Well, I suppose that's where I come in," the governor said. "I'd been summoned for a tete-a-tete with my Vietnamese counterpart. It appears the Vietnamese had become aware of an uprising, either based in or being channeled through Pakse. I was encouraged to round up any outsiders staying in town without official documentation. We began that search a few days ago and who should we catch in the net the day before yesterday but one undercover Lao army officer."

"That would be me," Kumpai said, putting up his hand. Kumpai had been an erstwhile nondrinker who had decided today was a good time to start. He'd begun to slur his words as soon as the cap was removed from the Johnnie Walker bottle (the real thing, not the Vietnamese rebottled variety). "I got caught," he said and slouched against the closet.

"We were able to confirm Captain Kumpai's identity with his superiors in Vientiane, and they insisted he share his knowledge with the Vietnamese security adviser. That's how we learned that Captain Kumpai was in contact with agents in Ubon."

"That would be us," said Dtui, and she and Phosy threw their hands into the air just as their drunken predecessor had done. They slapped their palms together and whooped. Johnnie worked a lot faster than rice whisky. The governor, relapsing into his schoolmaster persona, told the two to sit down and behave. They obliged, smiling, as he continued.

"When the captain received his call in regard to Officer Phosy, we sent men to facilitate his reentry into Laos. He and Comrade Dtui were brought directly to my office. Our two rather amazing friends here had no end of valuable information for our attention." There was another round of applause. "During our manhunt for insurgents, we had also discovered that Comrade Civilai was here in Pakse incognito"--another round of applause; Civilai bowed dramatically.--"Captain Kumpai had told us of his purpose for being in the south, and today we coordinated our efforts with his. He was instrumental in pinpointing various government officials we could trust. We had the Vietnamese advisers share our information with them. Thanks to the broken code, a number of key rebels have already been arrested around the country. Following those arrests, more conspirators were implicated and apprehended."

"Who was the character referred to near the beginning of the note?" Siri asked. "The PP?"

"It would appear that Phetsarat Ponpaseth was involved in the coup."

"Damn. And he's a minister."

"He was until this afternoon. We can assume he was slated to be the head of the revolutionary government. I'm sorry to say the security forces were too slow to pick him up. He and one or two of the generals on the list have disappeared."

"They probably fled as soon as they heard that the Ubon operation center had been compromised," Civilai said.

"So it would seem," Katay continued. "But despite that little setback, my Vietnamese counterpart assures me that as far as Hanoi and Vientiane are concerned, the coup threat has been nullified."

There was a spontaneous cheer in the little room, followed by much hugging and backslapping. It was an easy atmosphere to be caught up in but Siri continued to feel like an observer who'd stumbled upon someone else's victory parade. He didn't begrudge them their celebration. A win was a win. But he was sorry Daeng wasn't there with them. She was the one who'd made the Ubon connection. This was her victory also. He'd sent a trishaw driver to find her but she wasn't in her shanty. He thought back to that last night when they'd celebrated together in Savanaketh in 1945, the night they'd drunk to their country's independence. He recalled how he'd felt then and wondered why he didn't have any of those emotions now. Perhaps it was age.

He would have appreciated some time alone with Civilai. There were one or two things still worrying him that he knew his friend could explain, but through the evening and into the night the old brothers found themselves apart. Circumstances didn't give them a chance to chat. First it was the unflagging conversation, then the trail of visitors from the town hall, and the military bringing ongoing reports and not leaving. Then it was the whisky. With Lao rice whisky there were clear signals that it was time to stop: stomachs evacuating, eyes blurring, bottoms flatulating. But those heathen Scottish tribes had created a brew that seduced a man and forced him to consume beyond the point of logic. He would find himself floating above the clouds on the back of a giant eagle, euphorically stupid. He would be so assured of himself that even when the eagle vanished--
poof-
--and he was tumbling down toward the bleak rugged mountains of the highlands, he would still swear he was in control. He might even attempt a somersault or two as he dropped, and then
splat.

Siri awoke from his own personal
splat
in a damp patch of grass above the ferry port. He had no idea how he had arrived there. Before him, the Se Don, which often gave the impression it was something special as far as rivers were concerned, converged with the magnificent Mekhong like a worm running into a giant cobra. The scene was too vast for Siri's limited consciousness to take in. His brain felt like it had shriveled to the size of a walnut. When he moved his head he could hear it rattle inside his skull. His ear throbbed, his eyes smarted, and his neck was as stiff as a tree stump. His body was a treasure trove of aches and agonies. The morphine and the adrenaline had long since worn off and he was left with no doubt that he'd engaged in a wrestling match with a younger man. Hoisting himself onto one elbow was a major feat.

With the sky still obscured by grumbling clouds, it was difficult to pinpoint the hour. Something in his inner clock told him it was a quarter past dawn, but there was a thin line between instinct and downright guesses. Down in the river, up to her waist in the rust brown water, a woman bathed. She wore a thin cotton cloth tied above her breasts. The bathing sarong is sewn into a tube and, from experience, Siri knew she would be naked inside it. To Siri's mind, there was nothing more beautiful, nothing in the world as erotic, as a woman bathing in a river.

She untied the loose knot and pulled the cloth forward. She took the soap from its floating dish, reached inside her sarong, and scrubbed. Then she retied the knot and reached up inside from the hem and took great pains to soap even the most inaccessible nooks and crannies. She gave a little spin-drier shimmy, collected her soap dish, and waded to the bank with the cloth sticking to her lean body like a tattoo. Siri was invigorated. It was a sight to turn a boy into a man. It was so stimulating he could momentarily forget the river bacteria and algae that dedicated their short lives to seeking out warm fertile flesh to infest. He could certainly forgive her for polluting a waterway that provided drinking water to thousands of families downstream, and the thought of what might have entered the water upstream wasn't even worth considering. All of that fell into the realm of meaningless trivia when compared to the pleasure to be had from watching a woman bathe in a river.

The sight reminded him why he'd come to this spot in the early hours of the morning. Even before the party had begun to wind down, it had become imperative to see Daeng and tell her the news. In his inebriated state he'd been unable to find her small house along the confusing backstreets so he'd gone to her noodle stand. Not surprisingly, at 3 a.m. it was all disassembled and tied onto her cart, which in turn was padlocked to a six-inch pipe. He'd climbed the bluff to consider his next move and there fatigue and pain had overcome him.